


If the Way is Hazy

by Scrawlers



Series: Paradigm Shift [8]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Reality, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, this is what happens when you binge past seasons of The Great British Bake-Off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 19:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17607509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: One day, Keith and Lotor decide to try their hands at baking. Baking a cake from scratch is . . . an experience, to say the least, but not one either of them regret.





	If the Way is Hazy

**Author's Note:**

> As noted above, this is part of my _Paradigm Shift_ AU series. It's not strictly necessary to have read the others before you read this one, but just know that Keith, Lotor, Acxa, Ezor, Zethrid, and Narti are the paladins of Voltron in this reality. This one takes place a little bit before _Revolutionary_ , so they're not a couple yet, but the pining is there (on both sides, though one is more subtle than the other due to the PoV of this fic).

One day, Keith and Lotor decided to try their hands at baking.

They each knew how to cook, a bit. They had to learn when they first left Revender, because it was either that or starve. Acxa had remembered approximations of her grandmother’s recipes and lessons, and she—as much of a lost kid as they themselves were, at the time—had done her best to impart her fragmented knowledge on them. But cooking was different than baking, and it was especially so when one had access to a full kitchen. They hardly knew where to start.

But they did want to start, or at least try, because Lotor knew Keith had a sweet tooth even if Keith wouldn’t say so, and both of them wanted to surprise Acxa with a recipe she hadn’t found for them. So that brought them to the kitchen, and the ingredients, and an old recipe for a cake-like dessert Lotor had found in a book that looked older (and was nine hundred times more valuable) than his father.

The bake itself was . . . an experience.

First they had to make the batter for the “sponge” (which Keith hoped was another word for cake, and Lotor said that it was, but he said so in a way that told Keith he was trying to convince himself as much as Keith). On paper, this was simple. In practice, they were covered in flour in ticks, and Lotor’s hair cascaded over his shoulders and into the mixing bowl every time he leaned forward. On the third swing, Keith decided he had enough and took a knife to his own apron string. The strip of fabric freed, he reached for Lotor’s hair.

Lotor stepped out of reach. “What are you doing?”

“Your hair’s in the way,” Keith said. “C'mere, let me see.”

This time, Lotor remained still as Keith swept swept his long hair back, his fingers brushing Lotor’s cheeks and jaw as he did so. It was difficult to get all of it; there were a lot of annoying little strands at the base of Lotor’s neck Keith couldn’t grasp no matter how hard he tried. But he finally managed to tie most of Lotor’s hair back in a messy ponytail, and stepped back to admire his work.

His powdery fingerprints, courtesy of the flour, were spattered across Lotor’s jawline.

“Oh, uh, oops. Here, lemme—” Keith tried to wipe his prints away, but only succeeded in smearing more flour across Lotor’s skin. He frowned. “It’s getting worse.”

Lotor’s lips curled in a half-smile. “You know, I am not the only one with hair in my face.”

“Wha—hey—!”

Lotor swept Keith’s bangs up and off his forehead. Predictably, they fell right back into place. But judging from the flour all over Lotor’s hand, Keith had a good idea of what was now on his forehead.

Lotor grinned. “We’re two of a kind, now. A matched set.”

Keith tried to bite back his own smile as warmth prickled beneath his skin; he wasn’t so sure he succeeded. “C'mon, we’ve gotta finish making the sponge.”

The recipe called for rucharies (a type of fruit) to be “suspended” in the sponge, whatever that meant. Lotor dropped a few in wholesale, while Keith chopped the rest.

“Are they meant to be chopped?” Lotor asked.

Keith shrugged. “We can get more of them in this way.”

Lotor considered this, then nodded. “A fair point.”

Once they were chopped in varying sizes, Keith haphazardly tossed the rucharies into the batter. That was when he and Lotor simultaneously realized three things:

One, they had yet to pour the batter into the baking pan.

Two, they had yet to locate the baking pan.

And three, they had forgotten to preheat the oven.

“Why does it need to be preheated? It’s an oven. It’s going to be hot,” Keith grumbled, fiddling with the knobs as Lotor searched for a circular cake pan.

“Why must the cake be round?” Lotor asked, his voice a bit muffled with how he was leaning into the pan cabinet. “These are the questions that drive us.”

Keith snorted a laugh.

Lotor found a circular pan and they poured the batter in before the oven finished preheating. Keith, not one to waste time waiting, declared the oven heated enough and put the cake in.

“There must be a reason recipes insist on preheating,” Lotor said.

“It’s heated enough,” Keith insisted. Lotor smiled.

Making the icing was a bit easier than making the batter, but a moment of distraction led to Lotor accidentally tapping an icing covered spoon against the side of Keith’s head, which caused a glob of frosting to get lodged in his hair. Both reached for it simultaneously, their fingers combing together. All they succeeded in doing was smearing it.

“It isn’t so bad,” Lotor said. “Pink rather suits you. It looks like a fashionable highlight.”

Keith made a face at him just a tick before he swiped a fingerful of icing and ran it down a lone lock of hair that fell across Lotor’s face.

“There,” he said. “We match.”

The surprise that had overtaken Lotor’s expression fell away to muted laughter.

The icing made, all they had to do was wait for the cake. The recipe hadn’t givem them a baking time, and so they were left seated on the floor in front of the oven, watching through the little window on the door.

“Think this’ll be a disaster?” Keith asked after a bit.

“With you at the helm? Absolutely not.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never baked a cake before.”

“No, but your instincts are impeccable. I have no doubt.”

Keith looked down, and toyed the fabric of his pants between his fingers. After a moment, he asked quietly, “Why do you have so much faith in me?”

Lotor hummed. “Why do you have so little?”

Keith’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, to find Lotor staring steadily back at him. He hastily looked away again. “I—I don’t.”

Lotor hummed again, but didn’t reply.

Keith cleared his throat. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You never answered my question.” Keith looked back, and this time his stare met Lotor’s, unwavering.

Lotor was silent for a moment, resting his cheek against curled fingers as he studied Keith. Finally, he smiled softly. “You’ve never given me a reason not to.”

Keith’s breath was shallow in his chest. No words could reach his voice.

Eventually, they took the cake (and it  _was_  a cake, not a bath sponge, to Keith’s relief) from the oven. Keith immediately set to applying the icing, which turned out to be a mistake; it started melting the moment it touched the cake.

“Perhaps we should let it cool before we apply any more,” Lotor suggested.

Keith huffed a sigh, but dropped the knife. “Yeah. Sure.”

The waiting game was painful. Keith only lasted ten doboshes before he gave up, and with Lotor’s help patched in globs of icing wherever there was a hole from the frosting melting off before. And once it was done, they called the others in to try their creation.

Ezor’s eyes were wide as she surveyed the kitchen, and Zethrid asked, “The hell happened in here?”

Keith gestured to the counter in front of him. “Cake.”

The others made their way over, Kova hopping from Narti’s shoulder to the counter once he was near enough.

Acxa frowned. “It looks . . .”

“A mess,” Zethrid said bluntly.

Keith scowled, and crossed his arms. “It’s covered, isn’t it?”

“What happened to the icing?” Ezor asked, and without waiting for an answer she skimmed a finger along the top and popped it in her mouth. She beamed. “Mmm, yummy!”

Keith smiled as Lotor said, “There was a bit of an incident with a warm sponge, but we resolved it to the best of our ability.”

“You mean you covered the mistakes with more icing?” Acxa asked.

“Precisely.”

Kova yawned loudly, and when she had their attention, Narti raised her hands and signed,  _“It is the taste that counts, and Ezor said the icing was good. Shall we try the rest?”_

Zethrid swiped the knife off the counter, and grinned broadly as she said, “Oh yeah. Let’s cut this sish.”

Despite her boisterous tone, she sliced through the cake cleanly, separating a slice from the rest. Acxa raised her eyebrows as she peered inside.

“Most of the rucharies are suspended,” she said.

“Really?” Keith leaned over as well, staring inside. “How can you tell?”

“They’re all through the cake, see?” Acxa prodded at them with her fork, and Keith blinked.

“Oh. Got it.”

“Too bad the bottom’s all soggy,” Zethrid said, poking the slice with her fork. “It’s soaked through.”

“Wait, wait,” Ezor said, before Keith could protest, “what’d you say their bottom was?”

“Soggy.”

Ezor was shaking, her cheeks puffed with barely surpressed laughter. “So they’ve got a  _soggy bottom_?”

Acxa rolled her eyes as Zethrid snorted and lightly bumped her fist against Ezor’s shoulder.

“How can it be wet?” Keith demanded. “It spent all that time in the oven!”

“Not enough,” Acxa said after swallowing her bite. “It’s underbaked.”

“ _What_?”

“Did you dry the fruit out before putting it in?”

“I’m afraid not,” Lotor said. “But we did chop them.”

“If the fruit was moist, that explains the . . . soggy bottom,” Acxa said as Ezor broke into another fit of giggles. “The extra moisture came from the fruit. But it’s still underbaked.”

“Fine, we’ll put it back in the oven,” Keith said.

“You can’t do that, the icing’ll melt!” Ezor said.

“It already melted once!”

Narti tapped Keith’s arm, and when he looked her way, she tilted her head consolingly in his direction as she signed,  _“The flavors are still very good, Keith.”_

“Just a shame about the bake,” Zethrid said.

Keith bit out another sigh between his teeth, but before he could say anything more, Kova smacked his front paw on top of the cake.

“Kova!” Ezor cried.

“Gods damn it, cat!” Zethrid said.

Kova, thoroughly unperturbed by their anger, set to licking the frosting off his paw.

_“See? Kova likes it,”_  Narti signed, her tail swishing in happy curls behind her.

“Well, at least someone does,” Keith muttered.

The cake, underbaked as it was, was unfortunately inedible. The girls filed out of the kitchen, Narti bodily carrying Kova away, and Keith poked at the paw print Kova left behind with a fork. After a tick, he smiled bitterly. “Guess you were wrong.”

“About?”

“To have faith in my baking.”

“I’d hardly say that.” Lotor reached over and swiped some frosting off the cake with his finger, licking it as Ezor and Kova had before him. “This is delicious. Ezor, Narti, and Kova were correct.”

“It’s underbaked. And—”

“The rucharies that were suspended were the ones you chopped. Mine were at the bottom.” Lotor smiled when Keith looked over to meet his eyes. “Your instincts were on the mark. We only need to refine our technique.”

Keith looked back at the cake. He almost felt like smiling, but he held it back. “Yeah, well. We can do that next time. If—If you want. To do this again, I mean.”

Lotor’s smile didn’t fade. “I would very much like to.”

Once again, Keith felt a surge of warmth. His heart was drumming an arrhythmic beat, and as it had before, his breath felt too weak in his lungs. They were alone in the kitchen. As much as he was aware of the heat—the  _charge—_ between them, he was aware that they were alone. They were . . . he could . . .

Keith dug his nails into the countertop, and his teeth into his lower lip. No. He couldn’t.

He cleared his throat.

“We should probably get this cleaned up,” he said, and motioned to the mess all over the counter, cake included. “So we can all eat dinner later.” 

He glanced back out of the corner of his eye to see that Lotor was still staring at him, his eyes burning just as before, but now his lips were pressed tightly together. 

After a tick, Lotor nodded. He turned away as he took a deep breath through his nose.

“Quite right. I wouldn’t dream of leaving the kitchen in this state. It’ll start with the ingredients, if you’d like to handle the cake?”

“Sure thing.” 

Silence fell as Lotor began to put away the flour and eggs, and Keith carried the inedible cake over to the bin. Something in his chest dropped as the cake slid off the pan and into the trash, but even as he squeezed the edges of the pan he knew it was less about that, and more about . . .

He stole a glance to the other side of the room. Lotor was neatly stacking the non-perishables in the pantry, his back to Keith. His hair was still tied back with the strap from Keith’s apron.

He thought . . . he was probably imagining it, but for a moment, Keith thought that maybe . . . maybe he was wrong, and Lotor also wanted . . .

He shook his head.

It didn’t matter. He was imagining it. And even if he wasn’t, they had a revolution to win.

He carried the empty cake pan over to the sink, and once it was in, turned on the tap.


End file.
